At times, I wish to be a rock. When the wind ceases, it ceases. When the wind moves, it moves. It stops when it stops, Move when it moves. A slight push carries it countless distances. What is more free than a rock? That, I do not know.
Opening the window, I watch the bird depart With a heart. They say distant heart tend towards like places, Yet my heart drifts with no traces of paces. When the heart drifts, So does the spirits. Travelling a thousand miles, I hope it finds its replies.
